


Third Eye

by ginger_mosaic



Series: Free to Be... [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Agender Castiel (Supernatural), Bisexual Dean Winchester, Canon-Typical Violence, Castiel in a Skirt, Charlie Bradbury Lives, Charlie Lives, Coming Out, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, mild sexism because toxic masculinity, nonbinary Castiel, toxic masculinity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 16:40:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17584478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ginger_mosaic/pseuds/ginger_mosaic
Summary: It’s not fair, Dean thinks. And he’s not ready.





	Third Eye

**Author's Note:**

> I've been agonizing over this one for quite a while now, but I've decided to just put it out there.
> 
> I don't usually write sex scenes, so... Well. Here you go.

_ ‘Cause there’s a hole where your heart lies _

_ And I see can it with my third eye _

_ And though my touch, it magnifies _

_ You pull away, you don't know why _

– “Third Eye” by Florence + the Machine

 

_ That’s not fair _ , Dean thinks, as Cas kicks open the door, skirt flying, and shoots the vampire in the middle of the room with a sawed-off. Salt rounds don’t do anything to vampires, but the sudden noise and force surprises the vampire enough that Cas has time to dart across the room and stab him in the chest with an angel blade. The other three vampires in the room recover quickly and leap for Cas, but he spins around and catches one in the chest with his blade, his other arm swinging out to hit a third vampire in the face with the shotgun with a low  _ whump _ .

The fourth vampire tackles Cas, and they both tumble beyond Dean’s sight. Another shot rings out, and the fourth vamp stumbles backward into the room. The angel blade follows him and lodges in his throat, and then Cas is leaping back out of the darkness with a machete, and Dean thinks again,  _ That’s not fair _ .

He makes short work of the remaining vampire, and then he turns to Dean, chest heaving, and says, “Are you all right?”

_ No _ , Dean thinks.

“What the hell are you doing?” he croaks.

Cas looks around at the dead vampires on the floor, the machete still hanging from his hand, dripping with blood. Oh God, he’s got blood on his  _ skirt _ .

“I got your distress call,” says Cas. Dean frowns and looks over at Sam, who shrugs apologetically and shifts so that Dean can see that he’s been texting behind his back. The texts are probably gibberish.

Cas goes to the vamp with the angel blade sticking out of its neck and retrieves his weapon, and then he crouches next to Dean and cuts the ropes tying his hands behind his back. Dean can see his bare knees poking out from under the skirt.

“What the hell happened to not wearing that in public?” says Dean.

Cas levels him with an annoyed glare. “Okay, Dean,” he says icily. “Next time you’re in mortal danger, I’ll be sure to change my clothes before I come to your rescue.”

Before Dean can retort, Cas turns to cut Sam’s bonds as well.

“Thanks, Cas,” says Sam, rubbing his red wrists.

“You’re welcome,  _ Sam _ ,” says Cas.

Dean rolls his eyes.

* * *

 

“You took an  _ Uber _ out here?”

Cas shrugs in the back seat of the Impala. “I thought you were only doing recon tonight. You’ll forgive me if I didn’t have the foresight to rent a car in case of yet another reckless Winchester plan.”

“We  _ were _ doing recon,” Dean grumbles. “They weren’t even supposed to  _ be _ there tonight.”

Sam shakes his head. “Well, the case is closed now.”

“Yes,” says Cas. “You’re welcome.”

Dean is uncomfortable the whole drive back to the motel, and he doesn’t know what the hell he’s going to do. It’s a relief when Sam says he’s going to take the Impala and pick up some comfort food, but then he takes  _ forever _ washing up in the bathroom before he grabs the keys and leaves. Cas is still hovering by the breakfast table, setting their notes to rights in that meticulous way Sam has taught him, and Dean gets up from his bed and stomps over to him.

Cas looks up as he approaches, raising one eyebrow, and then his eyes widen in surprise as Dean shoves him back against the motel wall and kisses him.

“ _ Jesus _ , Cas,” Dean growls against his mouth. “ _ Jesus _ . That wasn’t fair. What the fuck.”

“Dean,” says Cas, and Dean grips him harder. He’s been fighting down an erection ever since Cas busted in with his damn skirt, and now that they’re alone, he can’t fight it anymore.

“You’re so fucking hot, Cas,” says Dean. “It’s not fair. With that fucking skirt. God damn it.”

“ _ Dean _ ,” Cas breathes again, and Dean kisses him harder, gripping his hair with one hand and his hip with the other. Cas grabs back, pressing their bodies together, and Dean slips his hand down Cas’s thigh and hikes his skirt up, but then Cas suddenly grabs Dean’s wrist. “Dean, stop,” he says against Dean’s mouth, interrupting another kiss.

Dean pulls back, his gut dropping. “What?”

Cas just looks at him for a moment. “Sam will be back soon,” he says at last.

Dean wants to say he doesn’t care. But he does. Of course he does.

“Yeah,” he says hoarsely, and then, with every ounce of willpower he has, he steps back. “Right.”

Cas watches him for another long moment. “You should clean up,” he says.

Right. “Give me your skirt,” says Dean.

Cas frowns. “What?”

“It’s got blood on it.” He points to a spot that he can see. “Let me run some water over it.”

“Oh.” Cas reaches down to flare out the skirt and check for more blood stains. “Shit.”

“Yeah.”

Cas pulls down the skirt and steps out of it, and Dean has to clench his fists to keep from pressing Cas up against the wall again.

Dean takes the skirt into the bathroom to rinse it and tries not to think about what Cas is doing in the other room while he takes a shower.

* * *

After that movie night, weeks ago now, Dean fell asleep on Cas’s shoulder about three-quarters into the  _ X-Men _ movie. Cas shook him awake when the movie ended.

“You should go to bed,” he said.

Dean felt reluctant to move. Cas was warm, and Dean knew he had always felt drawn to Cas, but now that he had acknowledged it, it was like Cas was a magnet and Dean couldn’t pull himself away.

Still, they said good night and retired to their own rooms. It took a long time for Dean to get to sleep again.

It took another week and a half for Dean to drum up the courage to ask Cas for more.

They were watching another movie, and Dean had been trying to summon the courage to reach out for Cas’s hand under the blanket they were sharing with Charlie. About halfway through, he finally brushed his fingers against the back of Cas’s hand. Cas got the message. He flipped his hand over, palm up in invitation, and Dean, heart pounding, threaded their fingers together slowly.

He wouldn’t have been able to say what movie they were watching at that point. All of his attention was focused on his hand in Cas’s.

After, when everyone else had excused themselves to bed, Dean stood to tidy up again, debating with himself. Cas helped him fold the blankets, and when he turned to put them away in the hollow ottoman, Dean stood frozen in the doorway.

“Um,” he said, and Cas turned around and tilted his head to the side curiously. “Um. Do you… Would you… Um.” Cas just stared at him, and Dean wished Cas could read his mind like he used to. “I just. Um.”

“Dean,” said Cas gently. “I know this is hard for you, but I don’t actually know what you want. I need you to tell me.” He met Dean’s eyes pleadingly. “I’m not… I still don’t understand human cues. I want… But I need you to tell me.”

And Dean took a deep breath and said, “Will you sleep with me?”

He meant it literally, because Dean had to be literal with him regardless and the thought of anything more made Dean’s heart pound in a way he wasn’t sure was pleasant. They went to Dean’s bedroom and took off their pants—because today was a day when Cas was wearing jeans—and slept side by side in Dean’s bed. In some ways, it was more thrilling than any sex Dean had ever had.

After that, every couple of nights Cas would crawl into bed with Dean. They moved closer every time, until they finally slept tangled together or spooning, and it was nice. One morning, the day after Dean had returned from a long hunt with Sam, Dean forgot who they were and what they were, and when he woke up to Cas looking down at him and smiling, Dean smiled back and leaned up to kiss him.

It was only when their lips parted after the brief kiss that Dean realized what he had done. He lay back down and bit his lip.

“Is… Was that okay?” he asked.

Cas just kept smiling, and then he leaned down and kissed Dean again in answer.

* * *

And now they are kissing, regularly, and it’s a thing, and no one else knows. Cas knows he’s not ready to tell anyone, and he doesn’t pressure him to. Dean’s grateful. But he’s also terrified.

Because he wants to do more than kiss. And he’s not sure what that means.

After the hunt where Cas saved their hides, they don’t get back to the bunker for another week. Mary called them with a lead on another hunt, and for the whole week, Dean felt an itch under his skin that he couldn’t define. The sparse minutes they could find to make out in the Impala or behind buildings when Sam wasn’t around didn’t feel like enough. Dean knew he was coming off desperate, the way he clung to Cas, his fists curled in that damnable trench coat, but he couldn’t help it. Something happened in that abandoned house where the vamps were squatting. It’s like a dam broke.

It’s late when they finally make it back to the bunker. Mary comes out of her room briefly to kiss the three of them good night, and then they all retire to their rooms. Cas joins Dean in his, but Dean is too wiped after the long drive to do anything but fall into bed. He wakes up with morning wood and Cas spooning him, and he doesn’t know what to do. His heart pounds a terrified beat, and he finally extricates himself from Cas’s octopus limbs and goes to beat off in the shower. After, he feels unsatisfied and ashamed of himself.

“Coward,” he tells his reflection. “You’re a fucking coward.”

It only glares back at him.

* * *

They’re making out in Dean’s bed one night and it’s getting hot and heavy, and usually Dean finds some excuse to interrupt them so they can cool off, like food or a movie or some other distraction, and Cas usually doesn’t seem to mind, but he can’t bring himself to stop them now.

It’s just that he has Cas underneath him now, because at some point he rolled them over so he could be on top, and he just noticed that Cas has spread his legs and Dean is between his thighs and if he lowers himself down it would be so easy, so  _ easy _ —

It’s not easy. It’s difficult and terrifying and he doesn’t know what it means. He hovers over Cas, holding himself up on his knees and elbows, one hand tangled in Cas’s hair, and he’s starting to get tired, his arms shaking, but he doesn’t want to drop back to the side yet. He wants… He wants.

So slowly, trembling, he lets gravity drag him down to press their bodies together. Cas moans and shifts his thighs so they’re framing Dean’s hips, squeezing lightly, and there they are and it feels  _ so good _ . Dean grinds down, and Cas gasps a little and his hips come up to meet Dean’s, so he keeps going, rocking their bodies together. His heart is pounding in his chest, and it’s hard to breathe. Dean moves across Cas’s jaw, rough stubble scraping his lips. He mouths at the skin of Cas’s neck, just under his ear, and Cas digs his fingers into Dean’s arms. Dean can feel him getting harder in his jeans, and he wonders what Cas would feel like. He sort of already knows what he looks like—the bunker’s communal showers don’t give much privacy, and Dean’s cleaned Cas up after injuries enough times—but he’s never allowed himself to  _ really look _ . He wonders if Cas would let him.

“Dean,” Cas moans, and Dean moves back to his lips, digging his hands into Cas’s hair to crush their mouths together. Cas’s hands move up and down Dean’s back, gripping his shirt in several different places, like he’s scrabbling for purchase, but every time he gets lower, Dean can feel him hesitate. Dean doesn’t know how to tell him it’s okay.

“Dean,” Cas breathes against his mouth, and Dean pulls back to look at him, flushed and panting underneath him. Cas’s eyes dart around his face, and he brings his hands up to frame Dean’s face. “You’re trembling.”

He is. He can feel himself shaking, at the edge of something.

“We don’t have to,” Cas whispers.

“Do you—Do you not want to?” asks Dean, suddenly terrified that he misread something. Maybe this isn’t what Cas wants after all. Maybe Dean took it too far and now he’s fucked it up.

“I would be content either way,” says Cas, earnest and sincere in the way that always makes Dean flush, though he’s never been sure why. “I just don’t want you to feel that you have to… consummate our relationship in some way. I’m happy just being with you.”

He knows Cas is giving him an out, but he’s starting to wonder if it’s really fear that is shaking his very bones.

“Do you remember,” Dean breathes, “a couple weeks ago. You saved us from those vamps.”

Cas narrows his eyes and nods solemnly.

“I think,” Dean begins, and then stops. “I was afraid. For you.” Afraid Cas had gotten soft, after losing his grace, with all the nail polish and skirts and the  _ vulnerability _ that Dean had suddenly become aware of. Cas could die. Dean could lose him.

And then he’d torn through those vamps wearing that skirt, and Dean realized that it didn’t matter whether or not he wore a skirt. Cas is a badass. He can die now, but he is still a badass. Like Mary is a badass, or Charlie. Like Ellen and Jo were. Wearing a skirt doesn’t make Cas vulnerable; he already is. They all are. But he’s still a badass.

Cas could die. But  _ Dean _ could die, too. It doesn’t matter who they are. Why not just  _ live _ while they can?

Cas can wear a skirt and be a badass. And Dean… Dean can want this.

Dean grips Cas’s arms. “I’m sorry,” he says.

Cas rubs his cheeks with his thumbs. “Dean…”

“I want you,” Dean whispers. “I need you.”

Cas pulls him down to kiss him again. “Okay,” he whispers back.

They pull each other close, and Dean works his hands under Cas’s shirt until he can pull it off over Cas’s head. He runs his hands over Cas’s chest, down his sides, back up. He’s angular and hard where women are usually curvy and soft, and Dean takes his time mapping the flat planes before moving lower, taking Cas’s hips in his hands as he mouths down over Cas’s collarbones, down to his nipples. He licks at the left one experimentally, and Cas gasps and thrusts up a little. Dean undoes the button on his jeans, his hands shaking, and trails kisses down Cas’s abdomen, down the trail of dark hair, to the edge of his jeans. When Dean looks up, Cas is watching him, pupils blown.

“Okay?” Dean asks, and Cas nods, so he slowly removes Cas’s jeans down to his thighs, checks in again, and after another nod, he slips his thumbs under the elastic band of Cas’s boxers and pulls them down, too.

And there Cas is, laid bare before Dean at last, all flat planes and hard muscle and thick cock. He isn’t sure what he was expecting, but the sudden heat low in his belly at least tells him he likes what he sees. He likes it. It feels strange to let himself think that. 

Cas looks heavy, and when Dean takes him in hand to test the theory, Cas breathes in sharply. Dean looks up again and sees Cas watching him, mouth open a little, and when Dean strokes him once, experimentally, Cas’s mouth drops open a little more, his breath coming out heavy. Dean moves back up his body to kiss him, stroking him slowly. Cas’s hands come up to grip Dean’s arms, and when he breaks the kiss to breathe, he grabs the hem of Dean’s shirt.

“Your turn,” he says.

They sit up and remove Dean’s clothes together, and then Cas pulls Dean back over him and takes him in hand. Cas’s hand is calloused and big and a little clumsy, but it doesn’t matter, because it’s Cas’s hand touching him, and Dean doesn’t care if it’s blasphemous to think it’s divine.

Dean lowers himself down again, and Cas lets go just in time for them to rub up against each other. They both release simultaneous groans, and Dean shifts to line them up right and thrusts against Cas. Cas’s hips move to meet his again, and now with nothing between them, it’s rough and warm and good. The drag of skin on skin, the heat of Cas’s body beneath him, curls Dean’s toes. He feels drunk on it. They kiss between panted breaths, and Cas finally reaches down and grabs Dean’s ass to press them closer together. Dean moans into his neck and lifts Cas’s hips, and Cas wraps his legs around Dean, and they thrust together, breathe together, and, eventually, come together.

They lie there for a long time, Dean draped on top of Cas, his head resting on Cas’s breast. Dean’s brain whited out and he still can’t form a coherent thought, but he’s aware of Cas’s hands running gently through his hair. When he can finally route brain functions and force himself to move, he lifts himself up onto his elbows and meets Cas’s eyes.

“Was that… okay?” he asks.

Cas smiles. “Yes,” he says. “Are you all right?”

Dean assesses for a moment. He’s sticky and tired, and he thought he’d be freaking out more, but mostly, he just feels the way he usually does after sex. Sated, somewhat light-headed. But something more, too. Not just light- _ headed _ , but… light. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m… good.”

* * *

He’s not so good in the morning, when the freakout actually does come. Because it’s not easy after all. Of course it’s not. As his heart pounds in his ears, a steady  _ idiot idiot idiot _ , he feels faintly disappointed in himself underneath the thrum of anxiety.

“Dean?”

Dean is sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. He glances over his shoulder to see Cas sitting up in bed behind him, frowning in concern.

“Is everything okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” he says. “Just…” What are they doing? What does this mean?

What does this make Dean?

“Dean,” says Cas.

“It’s fine, Cas,” he rasps out. Fuck. He had sex with a man—with a  _ person _ with a dick. It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter.

Why does it still feel like it matters?

“It doesn’t matter,” he says. He’s not sure who he’s telling.

* * *

He doesn’t know what this is. Or he does know, but he doesn’t want to think about it, except he  _ does _ want to think about it and he’s just been pushing it down for so long that he doesn’t know how anymore.

He doesn’t know what to do.

It takes another week, but he finally gets Charlie alone. He told the others he was going to check out a book at the university library, and he managed to shake Sam off, but he is really driving out to Charlie in Iowa for lunch. They meet at a diner and order some burgers, and Charlie chatters about Moondoor until they get their food.

“So what’s up?” she asks, sipping her root beer.

“Nothing,” he grunts, tearing his paper straw wrapper into pieces. He hasn’t touched his food yet. He feels nauseated.

She raises an eyebrow at him. “When you called, you said you wanted to talk to me about something.”

He had, and he immediately felt guilty about it. He is using her because she’s safe.

“What, we can’t just have lunch?” he says, because he’s a fucking coward. He picks up a fry and pops it into his mouth in an attempt to be casual. He knows it fails.

Charlie rolls her eyes. “Oh my God. It’s like pulling fucking teeth—”

“Okay, okay,” he says, throwing down the bits of paper on the table. They flutter around uselessly. One lands in his ketchup. Dean runs his hands through his hair. “Look. I have to tell you something.”

“Okay,” says Charlie, and she waits patiently, and frowns when he doesn’t say anything else, can’t get the words out. What is he supposed to say anyway? “What is it?” she prompts. “Dean. Are you okay?” She hesitates and then leans forward over the table. “What happened? If you’re in trouble—”

“I had sex with Cas,” he blurts out, but it doesn’t sound right, so he tries again. “Cas and I had sex. We—I—”

“Whoa, whoa, okay. Okay,” says Charlie, holding up her hands and glancing around, and Dean realizes he yelled it in his effort to just get it out. Some people from tables nearby are looking at them. Dean’s face burns.

Charlie is watching him with a thoughtful frown. “When?” she asks.

Dean looks down at his plate. He definitely doesn’t feel hungry anymore. “Last week. We’d been sleeping together and then…” He gestures vaguely, uselessly.

“Okay,” she says. “Okay. So…”

She looks at him expectantly, but he has no idea what she’s expecting. He’s not sure what else there is to say.

“What does that mean?” she asks, after he’s silent.

“I don’t know,” he says hoarsely.

“Dean,” she says, suddenly gentle. “I think you do.”

“I  _ don’t _ ,” he says, and he wishes he could say,  _ Help me _ , but it won’t come out.

Charlie smiles softly. “Well, you like him, right?”

“I like women,” he says quickly.

“You can like both,” she says, taking a sip of her soda. “Or more than one gender, actually. It’s called bisexuality.”

“I know what it’s called,” he mutters.

Charlie frowns again. “So what’s the problem?”

He stares at her. “I’m a hunter.”

She stares back. “So am I. And so are Jesse and Cesar.”

“You don’t get it,” he says, dropping his head into his hands.

“Oh no, I get it,” says Charlie. “It’s scary. The world isn’t that friendly, and we have demons to worry about, too.”

“That’s not it,” he mutters. He’s not worried about other people. He can take care of himself, and so can Cas.

Charlie says nothing for a long time. Then: “So what is it, Dean?”

“I’m not…” He groans and grips his hair in his hands.

“Not what?” When he doesn’t answer her right away, she tries again. “Not what, Dean?”

“I’m not supposed to be like this!” he blurts, and immediately regrets it. “Something is wrong with me.”

“Dean.” Her tone is so firm, he feels forced to look up. She’s glaring at him. “There is nothing wrong with you. And you’re not  _ supposed to be _ anything. You’re  _ you _ . It doesn’t make you less of a man, for fuck’s sake. No matter what anyone says.” She leans further over the table. “You’re Dean fucking Winchester. You stopped the apocalypse. You took down Lucifer and survived the Mark of Cain. You have a brother named Sam and a guardian angel named Castiel. And you like women and men. That’s just who you are.”

“Former angel,” he corrects her.

“Whatever,” she says, waving her hand dismissively. “Tell me this: Am I less of a woman for loving women?”

“That’s different,” he mutters.

She shrugs. “Yes, and no. But my point is, who you love has nothing to do with your gender identity.”

_ I’m not a man, Dean _ .

“What about Cas?” he asks.

“Cas?” She frowns. “What about him?”

“He’s not a man.”

“So you’re telling me you’ve never been attracted to another man before?”

He looks up at her, and she smirks.

“That’s what I thought,” she says.

“What do I do?”

Charlie frowns again. “What do you mean?” 

He gestures helplessly again. “I don’t—know.”

“Look,” she says, “you like him. And he likes you. He does, Dean, it’s obvious,” she adds with a roll of her eyes when he gives her a dubious look. “Look, I know it’s complicated because our world is shitty, and you have toxic masculinity problems like whoa, but personally, just between you guys, it doesn’t need to be. You like him and he likes you. It doesn’t need to be more complicated than that. I promise. Just…” She waves a fry in the air like a magic wand. “...Be together. I mean, at least the sex was good, right?”

He glares at her. “Charlie…”

“Just asking. Look, I read the books, and now you guys are finally together so forgive me if I fangirl a little. The internet would be losing its shit.”

He just glares at her some more.

“Sorry,” she says, smiling tentatively. “Too early to be making fun, huh? Hey, sometimes it makes a difference to just say it out loud. You want me to go first?” She puts down her fry and sits up straighter, folding her hands on the table. “I’ll go first. I’m Charlie and I’m  _ suuuuuuper _ gay. I am a lesbian. Okay, your turn.”

He sort of wishes he could burn her with his eyes.

“...Okay, never mind.”

Dean shakes his head and looks down at his fries. “You make it sound easy,” he says.

She smiles a little sadly. “It never is,” she says. “Trust me, I know. You wouldn’t have come to me if you thought I didn’t already know that. I appreciate that, by the way. That you trust me.”

“Yeah. Well.”

“I know how hard this is,” she says quietly.

They sit in silence for a moment, staring at their food.

“Did you ever get to tell your mom?” asks Dean after a while.

Charlie smiles sadly at him. “You have a second chance. I think you should take it.”

“My dad would have killed me.”

“Yeah, well,” she says with a shrug, “he’s not around and you get to be whoever you want now.” Charlie picks up another fry and tosses it into her mouth. “So who do you want to be, Dean?”

* * *

“So who do you want to be, Dean?”

Dean jumps and looks up at Sam. “What?” he squeaks.

Sam frowns down at him. “Are you okay? You’re all… fidgety today.”

Dean runs a hand over his face. He’s not okay. His stomach has been rolling around in his abdomen all day. “I’m fine,” he says.

Sam gives him a skeptical look, but he lets it go. “Are you monsters guy or spell guy today?” he asks, holding up two books. One is an encyclopedia of monsters and the other is a Latin spellbook. Right. Research. He declined going to the store with Cas because he was feeling twitchy about being around people, but staying here was probably a worse idea.

“Um,” he says. He glances at Mary, who is waiting expectantly. “Spell guy.”

Sam nods and hands him the book, and then he slides the monster manual over to Mary and sits back down at his computer to look at newspaper articles. There have been some pretty awful maimings in Louisville that seem somewhat demonic in origin, though it could be anything.

Dean flips through the spellbook, looking for something that matches the victims’ marking descriptions. Sam mentioned something called “Sectumsempra,” which is pretty bad Latin for “always cut” and doesn’t really make any sense. Of course they’re always cut; they’re dead now. Dead people don’t heal themselves. Dead people don’t get to do anything anymore.

“...tell us you’re bi?”

Dean nearly falls out of his chair, and when he looks up, Mary and Sam are staring at him.

“You okay, honey?” asks Mary.

“Wha—What did you say?” Dean stammers.

Mary frowns. “I said it could just turn out to be some guy.”

Dean stares at her.

Sam is shaking his head. “No, it really doesn’t sound like a serial killer,” he says, and Dean breathes a sigh of relief. Right. The case. With the dead people.

And now Dean can’t look away from Mary. She was dead. And Charlie was right. They get a second chance. He gets a second chance. He gets to have this.

“Okay, well, have you found anything, Dean?” asks Mary. “Maybe that  _ sectumsempra _ thing?”

Sam laughs. “Mom, that’s from  _ Harry Potter _ .”

“I need to talk to you about something,” Dean blurts.

They both stop, their eyes on him, and Dean burns. He shouldn’t have said anything. He should not have said anything.

“What is it?” asks Sam.

“Um,” says Dean. God, will they stop looking at him? He can’t stand it. “Nothing. Never mind. I’m getting a beer. You want a beer?”

He gets up and flees to the kitchen before either of them can answer, hoping they’ll chalk it up to him just being a weirdo alcoholic and leave him alone. Except, no, last time he hid a secret this big, it was the Mark of Cain, and Sam’s been on him about the alcohol thing for a while, so yup, those are Sam’s footsteps getting closer. Dean grabs a beer from the fridge, his hands shaking. Shit. He’s not ready.

He’ll never be ready.

“Dean?” Mary and Sam arrive just in time to see him downing half the bottle in one go, so. That’s great. This is going real well. “Sweetheart?”

“I—” He swallows. Fuck, he’s not ready. He shouldn’t have said anything. It’s too late now, though. Now it’s all coming out.

“I’m bisexual,” he blurts, and then, after a beat: “Fuck.”

His knees buckle under him and his back hits the fridge door and he slides down to the floor, dropping his beer bottle. It hits the floor with a clatter and beer spills out in a wide arc. He grips his head in his hands and he can feel himself shaking. Fuck. Fuck.

“Dean.” Mary, his mother, is kneeling next to him. She tentatively puts a hand on his shoulder, and then on his knee. “Honey, it’s okay.”

“I’m sorry,” he croaks into his knees.

“Oh, baby, no,” she says, and then she reaches around him and pulls him into a hug, and he goes, still shaking. “I love you. Okay?”

He is vaguely aware that Sam is cleaning up the beer next to him, and then Sam sits down against the fridge, too, and rests a hand on Dean’s shoulder.

“I love you, too, Dean,” he says. “I know that must have been hard.”

Despite everything, Dean wants to tell Sam to shut the fuck up. But he can’t say anything now. Words just won’t come. It’s like they’re stuck in his throat. He forced  _ those  _ words out, and it’s like they were the last he could manage, and now he’s done.

“Dean, honey,” says Mary slowly. “Is… Is this about Cas? I mean,” she corrects quickly, “are you telling us now because you’re in love with Cas?”

Fuck.

He’s in love with Cas.

Of course he is. He knew that already. But not in so many words.

Mary tightens her hold on him. “Oh, honey…”

She and Sam keep talking, softly, but Dean can hardly hear them over the roaring in his ears.  _ Fuck _ . He’s pathetic. He can’t even… He just wants…

_ You get to be whoever you want now. So who do you want to be, Dean? _

_ I want to be worthy of him. I want to be someone Cas can be proud of. _

_ I want to be someone who can love him without hating myself. _

It’s quiet then, for a while. The three of them sit there on the kitchen floor, and Dean’s breathing starts to even out. He doesn’t know how long they’ve been sitting there when Cas finally walks in.

“Hello?” he calls from the hallway. “Where—Oh.”

Dean can see him in his peripherals. He’s standing in the kitchen doorway, holding brown paper shopping bags. He must have forgotten Sam’s canvas bags again. He’s wearing the trench coat. God, Dean loves him. He loves him so much.

“Hey, Cas,” says Sam, almost conversationally, and despite wanting him to shut the fuck up sometimes, Dean loves his little brother.

“What’s… going on?” asks Cas, coming over and sliding down to the floor in front of Dean. He sets the shopping bags to the side. Dean can see Cas’s black jean-clad knees through the gap between his own.

“Dean,” says Mary gently, encouragingly. “Want to tell Cas what you told us?”

_ He already knows _ , Dean thinks.

Cas shifts closer. “Dean.”

Dean reaches a hand out, hesitantly, and Cas takes it and squeezes it, resting his other hand on Dean’s knee. And then he says, “I’m proud of you.”

 

_ I'm the same, I'm the same _

_ I'm trying to change _

_ I'm the same, I'm the same _

_ I'm trying to change... _


End file.
